The butterfly effect!

Yet another day..
Yet another week..
Yet another life..

Life keeps going on..
With the same routine..
With the same mundane chores..

But exactly that much time ago,
In that particular place,
Between those two moments,

A butterfly flips its wings,
A flower glides across,
Yet, the pollen shatters!

And a slight variation happens,
A tiny shift in the plates,
Within the layers of earth!

The old shells are shattered..
The rusty thoughts are scattered..
A better version is the barter!

The caterpillar has grown wings..
The food, the shelter and the self
Almost everything changed!

The core of the heart lived..
Beneath layers of growth
And unnoticeable to the casual eyes..

It need not just crawl..
Now it could fly..
To soar new heights!

New horizons!
New wings!
New me!

Thanks to that butterfly
For the flip of its wings
And for all the ripples it caused..

Which shattered my world..
And along with it,
The obsolete cocoon!

Now each day is anew..
Each moment brimming with life..
Each flip with new ripples..

The old and the new butterfly
Continues flipping their wings..
So what happens next?!

Any more shattering?
Any more shaping up?
Or just a beautiful flight?!

Will you be my messenger?!

எழுதிவிட்டேன்
உனக்கான என்
காதல் கவிதைகளை..

மூண்டது
உள்ளே
சிறு யுத்தம்..

நேரில் சொல்லவோ
தூதில் சொல்லவோ
என்ற குழப்பத்தில்..

வெட்கம் முந்தி
தூது சொல்ல
ஆணையிட்டது..

மீண்டும்
மூண்டது
ஒரு போர்..

தூது சொல்ல
அன்னப்பட்சி தேடவோ
அலைப்பேசி தேடவோ என..

விரைந்து செல்ல
அலைப் பேசி என
மனம் மதிக்கு சொல்ல..

மடிந்தே விட்டதாக
எண்ணிய அறிவு
மையலின் மடி நீங்கி

அன்னப்பட்சிகளால் மட்டுமே
தூது சொல்ல முடியுமென
இடித்துறைத்தது ..

மையலின் பிடியில்
சிக்கிய மனது
போருக்குப் புறப்பட..

அலைப் பேசி இணைப்பு
கனவுலகிலும் உண்டோ என
கொக்கரித்தது அறிவு..

என் க’ன’வனுக்கு
அவசரமாக
தூது செல்ல

கடனாகவது
கிடைக்குமா
அன்னப்பட்சி??

800px-Mute_swan

Continue reading “Will you be my messenger?!”

Memories or Moments?!

A throwback post. Thrown back since I stumbled on to the post for some random reason and I fell for the words once again.. So presenting it back to you all, in case you have missed it.. Waiting to hear your thoughts on this..

Do you live in the present or a prison of past?

நிகழ்வுகளின் சிறையில்
நினைவுகளில்
சிறகு விரிக்கலாம்,

நினைவுகளின் சிறையில்
நிகழ்வுகளில்
சிறகு விரியுமோ?
விலகுமோ?

நினைவுகளுக்கும்
நிகழ்வுகளுக்குமான
நித்திய யுத்தத்தில்,
நிந்தனையின்றி,
நிர்சலனமாய் நிற்பதும்,
நீந்தி நகர்வதும்
நிகழுமோ?

நிகழ்வுகள்
நினைவுகளாகும்
நாளிலாவது
நித்தம் நிம்மதி
நிலைக்கட்டும்..
நீடித்து நிற்கட்டும்..

Transliteration

Ninaiva? Nigazhva?

Nigazhvugalin siraiyil
Ninaivugalil
Siragu virikkalaam,

Ninaivugalin siraiyil
Nigazhvugalil
Siragu viriyumo?
Vilagumo?

Ninaivugalukkum
Nigazhvugalukkumaana
Nithiya yuddhathil,
Nindhanaiyinri,
Nirsalanamaai nirpathum,
Neenthi nagarvathum
Nigazhumo?

Nigazhvugal
Ninaivugalaagum
Naalilaavathu
Niththam nimmadhi
Nilaikkattum..
Needithu nirkattum..

Translation

Memories? Moments?

In the prison of present moments,
The wings of memories
Provides moral support..

In the prison of memories,
Will the present moments,
Spreads the wings?
Or suppress the wings?

In the eternal war of,
Memories and
Present moments,
Is it possible
To suppress scoffs,
To be serene and
To swim across?

At least in the day,
When the moments
Becomes memories,
Let life be filled with
Love and peace, and
Let it last forever..

Poetic child ~ கவிக்குழந்தை

என் தாய் மொழியில் நான் ஈன்ற முதல் மகவு, ஆங்கிலத்தில் நடை பழகும் அழகிது…
Here’s the beauty of my first child in my mother tongue.. 🙂

Though there might be plenty of works by one who writes,
Few gets appreciated by everyone else and
Very few hold a special place in the hearts of the writer, like a mother feels extra special about her first child..

This is the  first article, I felt special about..
This one is the last click of the key for me, accepting myself as a writer..

I have been postponing the translation as in forever, for I couldn’t imagine the verse in any other form than its original tamizh version..
Even the transliteration was not as joyful as seeing them in tamizh..

Still, this translation, is my compromise to let my work reach far and beyond..

Hope you enjoy at least half of how much I enjoy this work..

Do let me know your comments without fail…

The child of a poet / Poetic child

A poetry conceived
In the heart of a poet
With an indefinite
Gestation period
Is indeed the child of the poet..

It ventures into the world
Tearing the placenta..

The poetry as a child is
Conceived in the womb and
Grown in the thoughts..
Over time,
It grows,
Nourishes and
Transforms..

Yet,
As a born child
Could never get back
Into the mother’s womb..

The written verse,
Could never creep back
Into the thoughts
Of the writer..

The full stop,
At the end of the poetry,
Is the same, as that of
Severing the umbilical cord..
Severing the last contact
Of the poet and poetry..

Yet,
The relationship of
A mother and the child
Has no severance
And it’s eternal..

The poet’s contentment,
Of drafting the poem
Is far exceeded,
Only on the appreciation
From the learned audience..

  – Aadhirai

Continue reading “Poetic child ~ கவிக்குழந்தை”